Overture
by Oparu
Summary: Henry realizes that telling stories from the world without magic makes less sense than telling the stories from his Storybook, so he starts writing a play for the school to perform. Regal Believer and Dragon Believer family fluff. (DragonOutlawQueen, OT3, polyamory, bottomless sea 'verse pt 11)


"It doesn't make any sense to celebrate Thanksgiving," Grace had said in history class. "It's not about us."

Henry hung onto that thought for the rest of the day as the school talked about their upcoming holiday play and if it should be Christmas or Thanksgiving related, if they should just do Shakespeare instead, because at least that was something with more academic weight.

Shakespeare didn't mean anything to them either. He was from another world, perhaps one more in sync with their world in terms of costumes and hygiene, but not theirs. There were so many things that they learned in school that weren't theirs, but leftover from the curse that said they were part of Maine, in the United States. They were, sort of, like their money had the presidents on it.

Most of it. Killian and some of the Merry Men still preferred doubloons, and Henry didn't blame them, they were pretty cool.

Granny took them at the diner, and they were good in the pharmacy and the comic book shop. Belle took all sorts of things for exchange in the magical things shop. They weren't just some little town in Maine that happened to have magical people living there. They were an entire world of people, with their own stories.

He thought about it for days. Letting his mind wander in the shower, in the car, on the way to and from school.

Finally, he walks up to Grandma's desk after class, his mind made up.

"We should tell our own stories."

"I'm sorry?" Grandma sets aside the rest of the lesson on chimera she's planning for biology. "To what are you referring?"

"Instead of doing something for Christmas, or Thanksgiving. We should tell our own stories. If we're going to have a play, it should be based on our Storybook."

She takes out her notebook and nods. "All right," Grandma says, starting to smile. "Are you going to write it?"

"Me?"

"You are the author."

"Yeah, but-" Henry stops. He shakes his head. "Okay, give me a couple days. I've never written a play."

"Talk to Miss Cerise, she's your English teacher, I bet she'd love to help."

The fairy-nun (formerly the red one, by Mom's clever cursed naming scheme) gives Henry four books to check out from the library and he picks them up from Belle, he suggests six more and by the time he's home, his backpack is heavy and his mind is just as full.

The Storybook holds their stories, all of them, but they're written by the Author, and the last Author was a terrible one, who changed things, put his own spin on them. They're biased. He has to fix that. Mom was evil, but she's not now, and there's a lot of things like that he'll need to smooth over.

He starts writing with a notebook in Granny's, books piled over the table. At first it's just notes, then silly dialogue based on his memories and a mess of trying to decide if he'll have flashbacks or if the first act should be in the Enchanted Forest and the second here in Storybrooke. He doesn't write with the magic quill, just a pen, but words fly faster from his hand than they ever did before he was the Author, so maybe there is some magic there.

His notes grow. He learns about scene structure and how to write stage directions, and totally forgets a math assignment. He makes it up on a Saturday afternoon, sitting inside while the snow falls hard around them.

Lily and Roland go sledding with Robin, Mom, and some of the other kids because it's the perfect day for it and there's a really good hill behind the school. Lily loves snow more than anyone he's ever met, and Mom watches him while she gets dressed.

"You usually don't forget your assignments," Mom says, tugging on her snow pants.

"I got caught up in the play," he says, then looks down because he hasn't mentioned it to her yet.

"The play?"

"Yeah, ummm, we were going to do something about American history for the end of the year pageant, or uh, Shakespeare, but neither of those are our history, so I asked if we could do something about us, you know, the Enchanted Forest and our stories and Grandma said I could, and Miss Cerise said I had to write it, and uh, I guess I'm writing it."

Mom gets that look. The one where she's so proud she can barely breathe. "You're writing a play."

"I'm adapting the Storybook into a play for the school." He sets aside his algebra and smiles. "It's been a little distracting."

"I bet." She walks over to him, half-dressed for sledding and touches his shoulder. "It's okay if I'm the villain. I know how I'm written in the book, and I did create this whole town to make Snow suffer."

"It's all right, Mom," he promises. "I think there's a way to make it fair. Lots of people have done things they're not proud of. Ruby ate her boyfriend. Grandma and Grandpa took Lily. Emma killed Mal once. A good story isn't black and white. That's right here in Narrative Theory for the Playwright."

Mom lifts his book on how to construct a play and raises her eyebrows. "Okay."

"I love you," he reminds her, because sometimes she needs to hear it. "You're not a villain now, and everyone knows that. You trust me. It'll be good."

"It's you, Henry," she says, reaching for his chin. "It'll be incredible."

The house is quiet all afternoon. Roland's the noisy part of his family, running around, wanting Mom to play legos or Robin to let him go outside or Mal to read to him. When he's at Marian's the house is quieter, but he kind of has three parents and they're usually talking or watching television so they can talk about manta rays and bats and world maps.

Robin and Mal have an obsession with the world outside Storybrooke that's funny because Robin's been out there, and he hated New York, but he thinks somewhere more interesting, like Colombia, might be fun because he loves the very idea of the rainforest.

Nature documentaries are kind of Robin and Mal's thing, which is pretty funny, considering they have all of netflix to choose from and they end up watching some kind of rare fish on the bottom of the sea.

Mal has something on about elephants in the living room, and he can just barely hear it. She's always pretty easy to share the house with. She brings him hot chocolate when she makes it for herself, always remembers cinnamon and only once she gave him hers by accident. He knew on the first sip that it had way more chili powder than he'd ever be able to drink, but it was funny.

Henry spends an hour with words flying from his fingertips, barely paying attention to the screen in front of him. He knows this story because it's his, all of theirs, and that makes it so important to get right. It goes fast, because he just needs the dialogue they can work out the stage directions later, and with the book in front of him it just flows.

Like it was meant to happen.

Maybe it was, this is their story and telling it makes it stronger.

"Coffee or hot chocolate?" Mal asks from the doorway, startling him away from the laptop and the blinking cursor.

"What?"

"If you're writing like that, maybe you want coffee," she says.

Turning from the laptop, he smiles at her. "You don't mind making coffee even if you can't drink it?"

"Who says I'm not drinking it?" she teases, folding her hands over her belly. "Regina's out."

Henry rolls his eyes. "You know you're not supposed to."

She chuckles and tilts her eyes downward at her very rounded belly. "The very complicated list on the fridge says I can have one cup as long as it's less than two hundred milligrams of caffeine. Whatever that means."

"Caffeine is in coffee, and soda, which is why Roland can't have it any time near bed time. It keeps you awake."

"Well, nothing keeps me awake lately, so I think it's fine. I will bring you a cup."

"Thanks." He turns back to his play, finishing the scene where he eats the apple turnover and falls under the sleeping curse. He starts a new scene, his moms at hospital where Emma finally found out it was all real. Then they go to Gold's shop, looking for a way to save him, together. Then the library and he stops.

Mal's in the library. Under it, and Emma's going to kill her. She has to, it happened, and it has to be in the play. A mug of coffee (with cream and cinnamon) appears in front of him. Mal sets it down and starts to leave, but he leaves his chair.

"Thanks."

She stops in the doorway, her own coffee in hand. "Of course." She studies him, tilting her head in that dragon way she and Lily both do, even though Lily doesn't really realize she does it yet. "What?"

"Did it hurt when you died?"

"Yes," she answers, inhaling the steam from across the top of her coffee. "I was stabbed with a sword, which is very painful. Your grandfather's, I believe."

"Yeah," he agrees, shuffling his feet. "Does it bother you now that you're not dead?"

She shrugs, as if contemplating that for the first time. "Not really. Coming back from the dead is arduous, and obviously the timing of certain events with your mother were less than ideal."

His face stings a little because as much as everyone tries not to talk about it, everyone knows that Mom and Mal had sex the night she came back and that's how she got pregnant (and why it's been so weird and bad sometimes) and he doesn't really want to think about his Mom having sex.

"Would it bother you if I had it in my play?"

"My death?"

"Yeah," he says, heading back to the desk and grabbing the laptop. "I'm just getting to the end and I need a big finale and-"

"Slaying a dragon is big." She smirks over her mug.

"Can I read it to you?" He shouldn't ask, maybe she doesn't care, but she's just watching elephants and translating some stuff for Belle. Maybe she won't mind.

Mal starts back to the couch, moving slowly because something hurts. Mom says something's sore just about every day, and Robin's always rubbing her back. They're kind of sweet in the way that means they're good together, happy. It's still weird watching them take turns kissing each other but they're mostly just content and Mom- Mom's so happy, so that's worth all of the weird.

"You want to read me your play?" She settles on the couch, sighing. Something must be uncomfortable. "Or would you rather I read it and tell you what I think?"

"I think I'd like to read it out loud, if you don't mind. I know it'll take longer."

Mal smiles and brings his forgotten coffee to the table next to the couch with a wave of magic. "I don't mind at all. I've always enjoyed the theater."

"Really?"

"You do know that we didn't have netflix in the old world, travelling players were the closest you'd get to a new story, even an old story told a new way. I used to sneak into villages when the troupes came through because I could never convince them to come up to my castle."

"Performing for a dragon's probably intimidating."

Mal sets down her coffee and rubs a sore spot with her hand. "Quite." She meets his gaze and holds it, as if daring him to not be intimidated.

He's not.

Not really.

She's not just a dragon, she's like his step-mom, almost, and...she's nice. That's probably the strangest part of sharing a house with her. He knew Robin before, for a awhile. He knew Robin made Mom happy and he was fun to talk to and he cooks and made Mom laugh. Mal just moved in one day because Mom and Robin wanted her around, and then he just got used to her.

She listens, a lot, and wants to hear about his homework and will always watch movies with him. He wonders if part of that is because she's been pregnant the whole time and a lot of that comes with kind of sick and sleepy, and that just fits with watching movies or watching him play video games with Roland.

"Okay," he starts, scrolling to the top of his play. "Okay, so we start in Boston, when I arrive at my mom's apartment, Emma's apartment."

And he reads it. He can't do the voices the way Robin, Mom or Mal does when they read Roland a story, but he finds ways to distinguish them, so most of the time Mal knows who's saying what, and she listens, watches him, stops to ask questions or make suggestions because they really did talk differently back in the Enchanted Forest, and she knows those words better than he does.

When he hits the intermission, his coffee is gone and Mal's staring past him, trying to work something out in her head.

"It's not in your book where the Dark Curse came from?"

"Just that Mom got it from you."

"I got it from Rumplestiltskin," she says, shifting again so her hands down near her side. He can just about see the outline of some baby limb through her sweater. There's a bulge. No wonder she's uncomfortable. "Sorry."

"Does it hurt?"

"Not really," Mal says, rubbing at the baby's foot. "Viviparous reproduction is much more uncomfortable than the oviparous kind."

"Why do it this way, if you had the choice, I mean?" He's wondered that for months and never had the chance to ask. It seemed kind of rude too, but she doesn't seem to mind.

"The choice isn't mine, dear."

"So what, Mom did something?"

"Perhaps choice is the wrong word," Mal says, thinking it over. "It's not a conscious choice of the baby to grow one way or the other, obviously it's very rare, so there's little to nothing written about it, but it would make sense with what I know of magic that when this baby was sparked, she began as a human. Which might mean she favors her human form when she's older, or perhaps she'll have a strong dragon phase later."

That sounds crazy. "Instead of running around like Roland she'll fly around?"

"And potentially breathe fire." Mal laughs at his expression. "Don't worry. The house can easily be protected with magic, occupants included."

"Good." He shakes his head, trying not to worry too much about a little sister who can fly before she can talk. "How did you get the Dark Curse from Rumplestiltskin then?"

"How does anyone get anything from the Dark One? He traded it to me, rather cleverly, because at the time I felt like I'd come out ahead in that deal, and he was just manipulating me, knowing your mother would steal it so she could cast it. Which let her feel like it was her idea."

"She never would have cast it if she thought he wanted her too."

"Precisely," Mal says. "Very manipulative creature, your grandfather."

He nods, watching her rub the foot in her side. She's known Rumplesiltskin maybe longer than anyone. "You've known him a long time. Did you know my dad?"

"No," Mal shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I met Rumplesiltskin long after he'd become the Dark One and lost his son to the other world. I know he thought of him often, but he rarely spoke of him. Too painful."

"He was without him for a very long time, wasn't he?"

"Many many years." She glares down at her belly. "And though I'm tempted to send you to another world with your insistence on kicking my ribs, little one, having been without Lily, I can only imagine his suffering."

"Can I?"

"Here," she says, dragging his hand to a foot that really feels like a foot. A couple months ago it was just weird tapping, but now, it's a foot against his hand. No wonder that hurts. "She's incorrigible."

"You couldn't feel Lily the same way, right?"

"I had a vague idea when Lily shifted position, but there was an egg in between." She covers his hand with her warmer one. "Keep reading."

"Yeah?"

"I want to know what happens."

He has to use his left hand to scroll, and then Mal scrolls for him so he can read, because he kind of likes the feel of the weird foot against his hand. It's starting to get dark outside when he reaches where he stopped and they must have gone for hot chocolate or something because Mom, Robin, Lily and Roland can't still be sledding. Mom wouldn't let them.

"So I turn into a dragon and fight Emma."

"Yeah, Emma kills you then takes the egg to Gold because she thinks it'll save me, then she goes back to the hospital and kisses me."

"True love's kiss," Mal says, snapping her fingers so some little rainbows flutter around her hand. "You'll need Lily."

"What?"

"If you want to write a play with a dragon, you'll need Lily. I'd be happy to do it but you said this was for December, and I don't know when she's going to get here."

"You want Lily to play you?"

"Well yes," Mal nods to him. "How else would you have a dragon on stage?" She thinks for a moment, curling her legs up beneath her. "She could probably help with your magic. You'll need a curse, that's easy enough to do, boiling clouds is a simple illusions, and true love's kiss, a dragon, a wolf- unless you intend to ask Granny to be a wolf for you."

"She doesn't-" He pauses and starts making notes. "Lily could do all of that? Make a curse, the true love thing."

Laughing, Mal waves her hand in a circle and small but evil-looking cloud swirls overhead, boiling in purple and green. She snaps her fingers and it explodes in a blast of rainbows outwards, lighting up the room. "It's simple stuff. I'll teach her."

"And she'd do it?"

"Of course she would," Mal promises. "She missed out on belonging, on being part of a family. Her helping you would be wonderful."

"So you want me to finish?"

"Henry, dear, I can't wait to see it." She touches his chin, like Mom does. "It'll be wonderful, even if I die for your art."

"I promise that's basically the climax."

She smiles and leans back, then yawns into her hand. "Good. I enjoy the dramatic."

"You had coffee," he reminds her.

Mal mutters into her hand then has to repeat herself because she can't stop yawning. "I told you it wouldn't work."

"I'm going to finish. Do you want me get you the remote so you can fall asleep watching elephants?"

That makes her laugh again. "No, thank you, your mother and Robin are almost back and if I'm asleep Lily will worry and argue with your mother, and besides, Roland will want to tell me about sledding. Might as well have the quiet while I can."

"Okay, thanks."

"Henry, I love your play. I think it's a great idea. We're here, now, but the old world is still part of us. It represents our roots. We should celebrate that."

"I'll ask Lily if she wants to help."

"That would be wonderful."

Henry smiles at her again, while she yawns and he grabs the laptop and retreats to the study. There's not that much left, Emma wakes him up and then magic arrives in a cloud of purple smoke. That's a good place to stop. It's happy but kind of ominous and that'll carry over to the next play, because they'll need something for spring semester.

Which means he'll have to write another play, but the writing is good. It fills him, somehow, and there are people who don't know the whole story. They just know that his mom was evil, and she was, but she's also the person who saved the town. He's getting ahead of himself. That's the second part.


End file.
